The Fall of Draco Malfoy
by chemxalromance
Summary: Draco remembers his downfall.


Title: **The Fall of Draco Malfoy**  
Rating: K

Genre: Humor, One-Shot  
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, mentioned Blaise Zabini, mentioned Harry Potter

Pairings: Draco/Pansy  
Summary: Draco's hindsight has always been 20/20.  
Warnings: None

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
Author's Note: One-shot written for a challenge in a LJ comm., challenge #5: The Beach.

Mellon Udrigle beach seemed like heaven in summer. As it happened, its visitors on one early August afternoon found themselves basking in the warmth of a sun perched high on an impossibly-blue shelf, warming faces and backs where it found itself. The sand was heated perfectly, enough that quite a few sets of toes found themselves curling absently into it. The water was a crisp turquoise, refreshingly cold after bathing in the sun all afternoon. The children were playing, the adults were relaxing, and the weather seemed unlikely to darken anyone's eyesight with anything resembling a cloud.

In short, it was hell for one Draco Malfoy.

How he had managed to get suckered into this was absolutely beyond him, and yet here he found himself in the middle of some filthy beach in Scotland, on a field trip for the pathetic excuse for a school that his mother was forcing him to attend.

Draco hated the beach. The sun was obnoxiously bright, the beach-goers unnecessarily loud, and sand seemed to just get _everywhere_. Not to mention (although he did mention it many times) his flawless ivory skin complained loudly at any long-term exposure to that overgrown light bulb that called itself a star. At that moment, Draco was standing on the edge of the beach, having yet to have moved from his original portkey position. That insufferable pug who claimed herself 'girlfriend' was pulling on his elbow and whining petulantly. He gave her a sharp glare and shrugged her off, much to her annoyance.

"Pansy, if I wanted arm candy I would have gone along with Crabbe and Goyle instead," said Draco.

He pushed past her, smirking at the comment that would surely leave her sulking for the rest of the trip. Misery loves company, and Draco was positive that all this 'fun in the sun' would leave him miserable for quite some time.

He walked – with Pansy on his heels – past the rest of the sixth years to find a quiet spot near the shoreline, where at least the breeze would cool off his burning skin. He could feel it already. Sighing exasperatedly, he tapped his wand to the small items that he had shrunk earlier. The two chairs and umbrella were set up for prime shade real estate, and Draco sank down into the larger one easily. If he was going to be here, he was at least going to be comfortable.

"But Draco, we've been sitting here for _hours_. Let's just pop in for a swim and then I swear I won't ask again."

Draco opened one eye to glare (if ineffectually) at his whining companion. He had managed to pass the time in silence, dozing a bit and then doing some Potter watching to break the tedium. Of course, that turned out to make matters worse, but that is another story entirely.

"Why, may I ask," Draco began, "do you feel it necessary to swim in that disgusting puddle? Half the year has been in it already, I wouldn't go near it with a ten-meter broomstick."

Pansy clucked impatiently at him, but replied, "Well, we're not doing anything over here, and I'm terribly bored. Besides, no one can see my new swimsuit when we're over here being wallflowers."

Draco watched as Pansy's eyes flicked over for a moment before quickly coming back, and he followed her gaze. Blaise Zabini. Of course. His girlfriend was vying for the attentions of a close ally in his house. Surprisingly (or perhaps not so surprisingly), he didn't mind. In fact, he was feeling positively generous. He would be able to dump Pansy on Blaise and spend the rest of this horrible day in peace.

"Fine," he muttered, pretending to be angry about it, "but only for a few minutes, and I'm not going in with you." Pansy squealed. Draco flinched. They descended.

In hindsight, Draco mused that he should have seen what was to happen. After all, he had not been paying close attention (his thoughts kept wandering to the fact that he was free from Pansy), and he was absentmindedly swishing the water's edge with his toes. The sun hadn't been too bad at that time and his skin was only becoming slightly tinged. That was what had distracted him: the total absence of something worthy of distraction. An ironic thought, but Draco recognized his downfall when he saw it, in hindsight at least.

There he was, minding his own business, when he was suddenly knocked off balance. Tackled, like some player in a plebian sport. He face-planted into the water – better known as "disgusting puddle" if you remember correctly – and sputtered his complaint about the sudden loss of gravity center. His perfectly placed locks were now dripping and clinging to his forehead, and his vision was blurry with the onslaught of sudden seawater. He flung the offender's body off his back and whipped around, mentally adding whomever it was to his impromptu hit list.

"You're dead, Potter."


End file.
